Rafe

It wasn’t the first time Rafe had stood at the top of the north wing’s tower, clutching the weathervane, watching Jude from above. He spent most of his time on rooftops, and this was his favourite. He was so high up the people could barely be seen. It was quiet, tranquil and all the woes of the people couldn't be parsed from there. No cries of the hurt, bartering of the greedy, sneers of the malicious. Only birds could be heard, chattering and squawking their morning greetings. Ships could be seen in the Wharf, occupying themselves regardless of the hour. It was like a world outside of the world, and he felt at peace whilst there.

The sun peeked over the horizon, heralding a new day. It had been some turns since he had sought refuge in this spot and today seemed a fitting place to experience the dawn from their new home. The taste of the word in reference to the castle below would no doubt feel odd for a long while.

Rafe sent his senses outwards, not surprised to find the sliver of his magic not in the dining hall where most of his kin still slept, but in the main training yard. Auraya’s habit of rising before the sun to work up a sweat persisted even in this alien environment.

He directed his magic to place himself several yards from her. She was gliding through the motions of their 9th movement, holding the positions three times longer than was required. When finished she stilled and turned to him.

“Shall we?” Rafe asked as he approached.

She simply nodded. She wore her mask, but the years in each other’s company made it easy for Rafe to see beyond it. She was still nervous. They joined hands and she closed her eyes.

“Clear your mind,” he instructed. “Start with a single item then fill in the rest.”

It took perhaps one hundred breaths as the frown came and went from her brow. He sensed her magic, cloaking them both and mingling with his own. The journey to their former home took but a blink after she had visualised and cloaked them both. She opened her eyes and frowned.

“Took too long,” she complained.

“Faster than last time.”

She gave him a dismissive frown before looking around the room.

“The emptiness is really going to help my visualisation,” her words dripping in sarcasm.

“O.”

“I know,” she sighed.

“O.”

“Rafe,” she threw back, rolling her eyes after several moments. “Progress has been slow, and my days are about to get busier.”

“There are enough steppers to help with long distance travel.”

She blew out breath before continuing. “I want… I need to be able to do this on my own.” He knew she meant not only for practicality and independence, but for the undying need for mastery and control of her talent. Auraya was the only absorber amongst their kin, but they knew that those who had come before them had had many limitations. Either they could only hold another’s magic for a short amount of time, or they could only hold a limited number of talents within themselves. Auraya had yet to find her limit. But mastery of any given talent had been hard won or was as yet elusive. Her frustration was palpable. Rafe felt a prickling of pride that she let herself – eventually – relax and reveal herself in his presence.

“How is it you turn me into a whiny child?”

He raised a single brow, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Yes, it's your fault,” she said with a smile.

Rafe appreciated Auraya’s ability to read him. It was a relief to be understood and not have to talk so much. It had been that way from the beginning when he didn't talk at all.

He brought his mind from that fateful alley where their present and futures had collided and joined. Auraya was in front of him again with her hands up. They continued to practise, moving to several different locations until Auraya’s frustration made it dangerous. Before she could move them again, he cloaked her and took them back to the training yard.

He walked backwards and unsheathed his blade. She looked up at the noise, a small smile touching her lips and drew her own weapon. Sparring would ease her worries.

They lost themselves in trying to best one another. The clash of swords rang through the yard as more of their kin joined them to watch or engage in their own training. Those who watched were mostly the newer, younger lot, the initiates or recently activated. Those who weren't used to their morning routine. They didn't hold back. They didn't doubt each other. They simply struck with everything they had and trusted neither of them would go too far or misjudge a strike.

They both sensed it at the same time. They came to a halt mid step and turned to where Paddy materialised.

“Deb is in place,” he told them.

They exchanged a look. Auraya nodded, expression grim and determined. Rafe sheathed his sword and turned back to Paddy.

“Send Bec to me in half a mark.”

Paddy nodded and left as he appeared.

“Stay safe.” Auraya stepped in front of him and raised her hand. They clasped, vertically touching from hand to elbow for a few moments.

After stepping back, Rafe took himself to a free suite a floor above the dining hall to wash and ready himself. After the allotted time, Bec knocked on the door and he called her in. She walked in, wringing her hands, giving away her nerves. As she started to speak, he spoke over her and closed his eyes.

“I'm ready.” For someone who never erred, Bec had an immovable fear that she would.

After a few moments of hesitation, he felt her hands on his shoulders and her magic washed over him. Having his face changed was always uncomfortable. The slight shift of his nasal bones, the stretching of his lips, the displacement of his eyes, the reshaping of his chin. There was no pain, but it was still unpleasant.

When her magic retracted, he opened his eyes, inclined his head and took himself to one of his stashes in Whitegate. Inside a false wall in the attic, he picked up a change of clothes and left his weapons behind. Once ready, he took himself to a roof opposite a large estate. It took about a third of a mark for him to lay his eyes on his target. He sent himself to a shaded area on the ground and walked past the entrance of the manor. His target looked directly at him, as expected.

“You there, boy,” she called, waving her hand to get his attention. He turned to her looking surprised.

“Yes, my lady,” he replied, lacing his words with curiosity and hope.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She smiled, charmed. “None of that. Are you looking for work, boy?”

He nodded eagerly and stepped forward.

“Come along then.” She indicated for him to follow her. “My name is Mrs Marsden. Do you have family?”

“No, ma’am,” he replied politely.

“Well, we'll find you a place to rest your head,” she told him over her shoulder.

They walked through what was the back entrance to the estate. A wide, open gate that would allow carriages and carts in to make deliveries. On the left side of the manor, Rafe could see the gardens. There were manicured lawns, colourful flowers blooming, a covered seating area, and staff attending to it all. On the right, he could see towards the front gate, where guests could arrive to a fountain and more flowers. She let him into the house through a side door that opened into a hallway. They passed a few closed doors before walking past an open one that led to a kitchen. There were people rushing around, shouting, and preparing meals. The smells almost made his mouth water. They walked past the room and several others until they emerged in a circular hallway with four doors connected to it and a hallway leading off in the opposite direction. Mrs Marsden took him to the first door on the left where he found a collection of men and women in matching uniforms gathering cleaning supplies.

“Juniper,” she called.

A dark-haired girl with an open and happy heart-shaped face responded and wandered over. She was dressed just like the others and carried a bundle of cloths.

“Take…” She looked at Rafe expectantly.

“Red,” he told her.

“Take Red to get changed, then show him what to do today. Find me after supper and I'll show him to his new room.”

With that, she left. He turned to his new minder. She was looking him up and down, assessing.

“Hi,” she said at last, smiling and raising her hand. He grasped it. “My name is Juniper, but you can call me Juni. You ever work in a place like this before?”

He simply shook his head.

“That's alright. I've been here for cycles. I'll show you how to do the job.”

She indicated for him to follow as she made her way back through the door and into the next door on the left. The room was full of clothes, staff, and household alike. The household clothes looked mostly out of season; ones that were stored but not discarded. Juniper led him to a rack of uniforms similar to her own. She ummed and aahed until she found him something. She handed it over and told him to get changed behind the rack. It fit him well.

She took his clothes from him and made her way back to the room next door to gather the cleaning supplies before they made their way into the house proper. They spent the day going from room to room, cleaning, tidying, dusting, rearranging. Juniper kept up a steady stream of chatter, clearly enjoying the sound of her own voice or simply loathing the silence. It was a good thing as she unintentionally gave Rafe all the information he needed about the movements of all the members of the household. Usually he would need to probe, but Juniper made it easy for him.

“Are you going to stay?”

“I'd like to,” he replied, giving her an inquisitive look through the mirror he was cleaning.

“I don't know why,” she began, brows deepening. “No one stays long. Of the newcomers anyway. The rest of us, the benefit is staying in one place. It's a good job with a good household and good pay. The last boy was only here for half a turn. He just disappeared in the night. I liked Dan.”

After they ate supper in a room just off the kitchen with some of the other staff, Mrs Marsden returned to take him to his new room. It was small but comfortable. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a lamp. It was reasonably clean and fairly warm. If he had been in need of a job and accommodation, he would have been happy with it. They discussed the terms of his employment and what would be expected of him before she left to retire.

He waited until the moon had risen high in the sky before taking himself back to his stash to retrieve his weapons and return his clothing. He brought himself back to a small sitting room close to the main study. From outside the door, he heard the sniffling of a young woman as she walked down the corridor. When all returned to quiet, Rafe slipped out of the room and made his way to the study. He slipped quietly inside, watching the man at the desk work. The man was broad of shoulder and chest. His hair was the local deep brown. His expression was hard and focused. The room was constructed of brown woods, large desk and shelves filled with books along both side walls.

At last, Lord Davers looked up and noticed Rafe.

“Get out, boy,” he said curtly, going straight back to his papers.

After a few moments, he looked up again. “Are you deaf? I said get out.”

Rafe’s lack of movement caused a spike of irritation to cross the man's face. It was then that he took the time to actually look at Rafe. He knew his face would be appealing. Bec had smoothed the sharp edges of his chin and nose, his eyes had been given the ethereal blue of the north, and his hair was now sun-kissed. His appearance – as designed – pleased the Lord, causing him to slowly rise with a predatory smile on his lips. He made his way around the desk, leisurely approaching Rafe.

“Looks like Mrs M brought me another fine specimen,” he drawled.

Once within range, Rafe drew his blade twisted it, so the edge faced outwards and dragged it along the man's neck. He then brought his blade down and waited.

It took the Lord a good few blinks to register the mortal wound. He brought both hands to his neck as he sank to his knees. He barely had time to register his shock before the throes of death took him. Once the man had stilled, Rafe cleaned his blade on the Lord’s handkerchief before rifling through his belongings. It took roughly a quarter of a mark to find all the documents he needed. Once they were safely stowed in an inner pocket, he moved around the desk.

Behind the Lord’s chair lay a door. Rafe shivered at the displeasure of constantly having a door at his back whilst he worked. Only extreme arrogance and overconfidence had allowed the Lord to abide by it, he presumed. Regardless, Rafe had come through the front door and had looked him in the eye as he killed him. No matter how invincible the Lord had felt, it was merely an illusion.

Rafe opened the door, blade still in hand, to find four guards stationed in the room. Three were sat around a card table in the centre of the room. The fourth stood in the far corner, seeking refreshments from a table that lined the wall opposite. There were two more doors leading out of the room, on the walls to his left and to his right. The occupants all turned towards the sound of Rafe’s entrance, then launched from their positions, reaching for their own blades. Rafe made quick work of them.

He moved himself behind the fourth man in the corner, who had moved forward to get to his former position. He pierced his sword through the back of the guard’s leather livery, withdrew his blade and kicked him, sending him sailing into the table. The other men hesitated in their confusion at the display of his talent, leaving them open. The man closest – on his left – stood stock still, gaping at Rafe. He took the opportunity to charge forward and open the man’s throat. A well-placed kick sent him into the man behind him, sending them both to the floor. Rafe then turned to the third man, who had regained his senses and drawn his sword. He growled his fury and charged at Rafe, bringing his sword up to strike. Rafe parried, relieving the man of his head. It rolled away as Rafe turned to the final man. He had pushed his dead comrade off him and managed to raise himself to his knees. He looked up as Rafe approached, fumbling for his sword, but it was too late. Rafe thrust his blade right through the man's throat.

Before turning to the next door – the one on the left from where he had entered – Rafe cleaned his blade again on the corpse in front of him. He found this door locked. A quick search found the keys on the first man he had dispatched. The lock turned soundlessly, showing it to be well maintained, even though it looked old and well-used. Disgust curled in Rafe’s gut, which he promptly ignored.

The door led to a staircase with subdued lighting. He could hear the voices of two others at the bottom. Thanks to the well-oiled door and thick walls, they did not seem alert to his presence. He padded silently down the stairs to scope out his prey. Hidden in shadows, he spied two more guards sitting face to face, also at card table. The room was sparse and fairly small. Only enough room for them and their table. Like the stairs, open brick made up the walls, and two sconces gave the room light.

Rafe slowly sheathed his blade and retrieved two throwing knives. They found their way into the guard’s necks with ease. Once they ceased their writhing, he retrieved them, cleaned them, put them away and moved to the final door. This door too was locked. He retrieved the keys from a hook next to the door, opened it and went inside.

The dungeon looked like any other. On both sides, the open brick was punctuated by clusters of bars in a repetitive pattern, showing perhaps twenty cells. It was dark, dank, and oppressive.

Rafe made his way through the dungeon. The cells’ inhabitants mostly cowered on their cots. None looking at him until he reached the last prisoner.

The young blond’s face broke into a cheeky grin when he laid eyes on Rafe. He drew his mouth into a responding smile as response. Deb was not one to be refused a smile. She would harass him until he caved. Rafe unlocked the cell and clasped Deb’s hand.

“One of them is injured,” she whispered in a voice not her own as they embraced.

He motioned for her to lead the way. She took him to the cell two places back. Inside a crumpled figure lay motionless on the floor. Once inside and knelt over the figure, Rafe noticed the bruises, the sweat, and the laboured breathing. Life would not remain in this person for long.

He directed his magic into his pendant, rifling through his kins’ magics to find Paddy.

Bring O.